The Spy Who Punched Me
by BuchananBarnes4Life
Summary: Alexandra Masters is a mutant, tasked by HYDRA to gather information on one Bruce Banner and take him out. Her hacker skills put her at a level above the old-school Steve Rogers, but when it comes to a bit of old fashioned tussling, the two are equals. Will Alexandra realize the error of her ways and join the Avengers? Or will she finish her mission, no matter the cost?
1. Prologue: Blondes & Encrypted Files

My fingers clack across the keyboard and I chew on my pen absentmindedly, the plastic leaving a subtle bitter taste in my mouth.

An array of colorful stickies are pasted on the monitor in front of me, with what seems to be no particular order to their mayhem.

Some list formulas, while others have codes and keys for what look to be complex equations. Way above my pay-grade, but whatever. It's not my job to understand this target, it's my job to take care of them.

I shift the mouse to my left carefully, dragging an assortment of encrypted files to my micro-USB I had previously stuck on the underside of the monitor when I was in this office last.

Of course, last time it was under the guise of IT to anyone who asked. Now, I was just a somebody who was not supposed to be snooping around in the Doctor's office.

This flashdrive is odd, no doubt. It kind of looks like a miniature disk, no bigger than the end of a pencil and hardly noticeable to the untrained eye.

It was supposed to collect the files I needed remotely and broadcast them to my servers once the upload was complete, but technology is apparently not my friend this week. So here I am, risking my ass to gain the files manually.

My hazel eyes flicker to the picture windows that form the walls of this spacious office and I wince in annoyance as I notice a woman with ginger locks and a sharp pantsuit exit the elevator. She seems to be struggling with a mound of manila folders overflowing her arms, along with a steel mug sloshing over with a dark brew.

Basically, her gaze is anywhere but on me, at least until she finishes struggling with her load. Translation? I need to hurry the hell up and scoot.

I finish my transfer and peel the USB off the underside of the monitor, sticking it behind my ear where it can't be seen behind my mound of choppy blonde hair.

I look up once again and my heart nearly pops from my chest when I notice the woman start to look up, towards _me._ I duck quickly, concealing my limber frame behind the mahogany desk which is thankfully big enough to hide me.

Her footsteps hesitate at the door, almost uncertainly. I curse myself inwardly, at my stupidity for not darting into the supply closet beside me, but nothing can be done for me now.

She raps at the door with her knuckles and I nearly jolt, before settling down.

"Bruce, are you in there? Tony wanted me to bring you the briefing, but you weren't in the lab..." She calls it out cautiously, as if this Bruce character was gonna jump out and bite her. Or perhaps she had seen me...and knew it wasn't Bruce scuttling about the office. Either way, I had to get out of dodge and make sure I wasn't captured on the way. Easy enough.

After a few moments, I hear the sound of her heels clacking die out as she gets farther away from me.

I yank out my modified cell and pull up the cameras around the office, letting out a sigh of relief as I notice the woman is gone. I stand from behind the desk awkwardly, my joints cracking oddly as I stretch out.

I tuck my cell into the pocket of my beat-up leather jacket and stroll towards the door leading out of Bruce Banner's office. I place my gloved palm against the glass door, swinging it outward with a slight creak.

With that, I'm in the homestretch. My window of invisibility is getting smaller, with about 10 minutes left before Tony Stark's AI notices my intrusion on the surveillance cameras and computers. However, I'll be long gone by the time it expires.

With that thought in mind, I grin gleefully and waltz right into something.

Correction.

_Someone._

I peer up at the hulking, blonde; watching his expression carefully. He looks confused, a bit perturbed by me so close to him. He takes a step back, nearly stumbling before regaining his balance.

I recognize him and can't help but allow a bit of awe to play on my face. It wasn't everyday you bumped into a genetically enhanced man; let alone a hunk like Steve Rogers.

We're nearly the same height and I can tell he's a bit intimidated. I relax my posture, just enough to look smaller than the super soldier.

"Mr. Rogers, my apologies! I mustn't have been watching my step too well!" I chuckle lightheartedly, sliding into character with ease.

Acting comes naturally to me, I suppose. Living your life on the run leaves no room for you to peer through. You have to adapt, to manipulate your surroundings to suit your outcome.

"No, that was all me ma'am; my apologies," He offers nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "Say, I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you new?"

"Yep, first day on the job actually. I was dropping off some files for Dr. Banner actually before I pop off to lunch," I chuckle, jerking a thumb over my shoulder to the office behind me.

Steve follows the direction of my thumb and visibly relaxes, his shoulders falling into a more natural position. He's hooked, I observe, and I take pleasure in knowing he's convinced.

"Oh, don't let me keep you..." He starts, before trailing off pointedly when he realizes I haven't told him my name.

"Carol. Carol Johnson." I reply with a warm smile, offering my hand out to the man.

Of course, Carol Johnson isn't my real name. He doesn't need to know that, though. One quick background check on my actual name, Alex Masters, would be enough to have the entirety of the Avengers on my ass. Something I don't need at the moment.

He studies my hand carefully, before grasping shaking it firmly. No doubt Steve was a military man with a grip like that.

"See you around Carol," He murmurs softly as I flutter past him, my pace brisk enough to get me out of here and casual enough to not arouse suspicion.

I toss my head back over my shoulder, close cropped blonde hair falling over my eyes slightly. I flash him a toothy grin at the comment.

"You can count on that, Captain," I chuckle wryly, sending him a mock salute before stepping into the elevator.

The confusion on his face nearly sends me into a fit of laughter before the shiny metal doors slide shut, entrapping me in the bliss of Tony Stark's elevator music, a lovely rendition of "Highway To Hell". I'd expect no less.

The buttons on the elevator ding as I make my way closer and closer to the lobby before finally, the doors slide open.

The lobby is a mess of people, as usual. I slip into the crowd, undetected, with 3 minutes to spare.

Outside, the sounds of city life flood my ears as I duck my head, avoiding the cameras on the street, just in case S.H.I.E.L.D was smart enough to give them a once-over.

They were definitely going to, of course. The files I took aren't exactly what we'd call "declassified" or "low-risk".

With that in mind, I thud down the steps into the Subway and allow myself one more disappearing act.

BRIEFING ROOM: STARK TOWER:

"All right, I'd love to call this little meeting to order, but first; will someone try Spangles again?" Tony Stark snarks from his spot at the head of the board table, swiveling in his office chair like a hyperactive child on a sugar high.

"I already called him, he said he was on his way in," Natasha Romanoff deadpans from her spot in the corner, leaning against the wall in annoyance at having to participate in another one of Stark's 'briefings'.

At that moment, Steve pushes through the double doors, clearly in no rush. He takes his spot at the table quietly, wedged between an unusually silent Clint Barton and Bruce Banner, who is just ignoring everyone in the room entirely as he scribbles mind-numbing equations in his tiny notebook.

"So, I assume you all have your briefing packets; so if you will just pull those out and open to numero uno, we can get this over with," Tony Stark grins, folding his hands and allowing his chin to rest atop them.

"Wait, what briefing?" Bruce speaks up for the first time, his voice soft and tinged with confusion.

"Bruce, I think yours is upstairs. Carol was dropping off a folder in your office," Steve mentions distractedly, peering down to the cellphone hidden discreetly in his lap.

"Carol?" Tony tests out the name, before shaking his head in genuine confusion, "No, I had Pepper bring it up to Bruce's office...I don't have any Carol's working up there..."

Steve's head practically snaps up, bewilderment dashed across his features.

Bruce speaks the question hanging in the air before anyone else gets a chance.

"Then who the hell is Carol and what was she doing in my office?"


	2. Chapter 1: Laundry Chutes & Liabilities

A/N: I have not written in so long so this may or may not be some of my best work.It's also quite short, so my apologies in advance I hate writers block with a burning passion. I will be attempting to write more regularly though this summer if time allows. With that in mind, enjoy...

For much of my fleeting 25 years on this Earth, I've been running. I learned the hard way, the longer you stay in one spot, the easier it is for your past to catch up to you.

My apartment is nearly barren for this reason, most of my material belongings all settled neatly on a teeny desk in the corner of my cramped apartment. All easy to pack up at moments notice, as you might've guessed I'm doing now.

"Damn it," I mutter glancing down at my analog watch and noting the time.

I had hoped to be gone already, but now I'm running behind by an hour as I shove my gear haphazardly into my worn, trusty duffel. My laptop, weapons and ammo, clothes, the works. It all fits into the duffel like a glove.

An evening rain pounds against my window panes, the droplets masked by the various editorials and newsprint taped against the glass to ward off curious eyes.

One last glance at my watch and I'm off, tugging a black rain slicker over my weary frame and hoisting the leaden duffel over my shoulder.

I don't have much time to throw together an acceptable disguise, so a pair of fake frames and a ballcap will need to suffice at the moment. I just need to make my way to the drop point and then I can leave New York in my rearview.

My fingertips skim across the back of my ear absentmindedly, checking to see if my flashdrive is still in place. I note with a smirk of satisfaction it is indeed still in place and unclip it from my skin with a tiny wince.

The disk is small in size, but heavy in burden. Sure, I've handed over classified intel easy, but nothing this personal. It feels almost wrong to divulge such information, when it's such a familiar topic to me.

Of course, if I was to destroy the intel and take off, I could disappear and most likely never be found. Did I want to risk that though, all over one man?

The answer is and will always be no. I have too much at stake now for my feelings to cloud my missions.

With the thought still worming its way through my head, I stroll from my apartment and slam the door before making my way towards the rickety elevator that will take me to the ground floor.

I press the down arrow and stand impatiently, occasionally glancing down at my burner. My contact has yet to call and with a mere two hours till the drop, I'm a bit more than annoyed at the moment.

_Click. _It's a subtle noise, not nearly loud enough to garner attention from your average New Yorker lost in thought. Of course, in my line of work, it shrieks like a bell. And that bell says drop.

With that, I slam my body against the hardwood as a muffled shot rings out, like a pop more than anything; striking the metal door right where my head had been.

"Great," I groan, glancing around wildly for my attacker.

He's a burly man, decked in tactical gear and armed with nothing more than a Glock 19, outfitted with a silencer to apparently mask the sounds of his kill shot.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, just as he goes to take another shot. I roll into the elevator, frantically pushing close as he bolts towards me.

Here, I have one of two choices. Expose myself as an enhanced in such a public setting and risk S.H.I.E.L.D coming after me or simply taking out the man attacking me the old fashioned way.

I choose the latter. Taking a quick moment to rummage through my bag, I pull out my own weapon as he draws closer, sliding a steady hand between the doors.

"What's the rush, sweetie?" He sneers with a grin, digging the tip of his gun into my scalp.

I remain silent as I inch the weapon towards him, trying my hardest to keep it from his line of sight.

"Cat got your tongue?" He mocks, his finger starting to curl around the trigger.

He still has yet to notice my weapon, in a stroke of dumb luck I'd say and I aim carefully.

He doesn't know what hit him. He slumps to the ground, jerking violently as bolts of electricity course through his massive frame. His hand jerks and the Glock fires wildly, thankfully, not into my noggin. He falls still and I pause for a moment, allowing my eyes to close for a mere moment, to catch my breath.

_In...out. Breathe. Think._

My eyes snap open and I stare at his lifeless form before my eyes flicker past him to the laundry chute.

"Nope, really bad idea; stupid, actually..."I whisper under my breath, but in all actuality, it's my best option.

The effects of my modified stun-gun will wear off after about 8 hours, long after I'm gone, and no one checks the laundry chute until morning. And even by then, his memory will be shot.

With a sigh, I tug at the man's feet, hoping to get a good grip. He's dead weight, all 200 something pounds of him and it's rough work. I groan and pant quietly, attempting to keep from waking my neighbors. Of course, the sound of a body dragging across the floor isn't exactly discrete.

Across the hall, I can hear the screech of a door flying open and without much cover, I pause awkwardly, hunched comically over the large assassin dude's body.

"Well, that seems like a problem," A voice rings out and when I peer up, my eyes meet those of my elder neighbor, Margaret. Her lips are turned up in a wry smirk, as if she's used to such a sight.

"Uh, hi Margaret!" I chuckle, "My friend here just had a bit too much to drink and I'm trying to get him home. Sorry if I woke you!"

"Might I recommend a sock in his mouth before you send him down the chute, dear? I'd very much like to have some peace and quiet that doesn't involve his screeching waking me." She grins, starting to push her door shut.

"Uh, can do Margaret!" I reply in surprise, sending her a halfhearted salute as she chuckles and retreats back into her apartment.

Shaking off the odd encounter, I finally manage to send the hulking assassin down the chute, stuffing a sock in his mouth beforehand as common courtesy.

With that, I boot it, this time taking the stairs to the ground floor.

The lobby is quiet, with our security guy, Gerald, passed out as usual with an empty bottle of brandy at his side. His snoring masks my footsteps as I make my way to the door.

It's all quiet, aside from the man entering. He keeps his eyes low, though, a navy ballcap shielding his face from an prying eyes.

I can feel him pause behind me, but I'm already halfway down into the Subway, disappearing into the throngs of those who will never garner a second glance.

It's loud, with the trains rumbling the platform and commuters bumbling around in a sleepy haze, foggy on their feet.

I glance around, looking for a nearby bathroom. When I find one, I slink into it quietly and click the lock, hoping to god it will stick long enough for me to make my call.

With shaky fingers, I punch in the number for my contacts and bite away absentmindedly at my already short fingernails.

It rings once, twice...

_Johnson residence; who's this?_

"Cindy Hartfield; just calling to address the elephant in the room," I breathe into the phone quietly, listening intently on the other end.

_Do you have the intel?_

"No, you get no intel until we address whatever just happened back at my apartment," I whisper angrily, "Did you send him?"

_We did not send anyone. It would make no sense Cipher. For us to kill you without getting our intel first._

"Then who was he?" I grit my teeth, anger flaring deep in my chest.

_We will look into it. Now, do you have the intel Cipher?_

"Yes, where's the drop?" I sigh, picking at a corner of the peeling paint on the bathroom wall.

_Change of plans. We need to you to dispose of a...liability__...using the intel before you hand it over to us._

"N-No, you know I don't do that anymore," I reply defensively, pulling myself up quickly into a standing position.

_You do now. Get close to Dr. Bruce Banner. Take him out. Instructions will follow._

"No, I can't- I won't!" I exclaim in anger, lowering my voice thoughtfully as I remember the commuters beyond my door.

_You have no choice in the matter here Cipher. We know about the child. We have her location. Fail us and you know the consequences._

"How do I know you're not bluffing?" I gasp out.

_47 Sugarleaf Drive. Don't fail us._

With that, the line disconnects.

I squeeze my eyes close, allowing my body to fall to the floor, as I clench tufts of my blonde hair with tight fists.

_They know. How do they know?_

I can't let them. I used to have no problem with these kinds of jobs until Kenzie. There was no way I could continue to do the things I did without putting her life at risk. And now, I was putting her life at risk by _not _doing the things I did.

A vicious cycle I'll never be able to break.

With a sigh, I search through my ID stash until I can find an acceptable alias.

Alicia White.

She's perfect for this job and I have just the tools to create her. I slip a long, raven wig on top of my blonde locks and pop in a pair of whiskey colored contacts. Next come the sleek, silver frames that sit pertly on the bridge of my nose.

When I look into the mirror, Alicia stares back at me. A young woman straight out of Harvard, with skills in computer programming to rival all others. Stark Industries would have to take her on and then, "Alicia" would be able to inflitrate the life of Dr. Banner.

It left me with only one question at the end of the night as I nestled into my NYC Subway bathroom retreat, using my duffel as a pillow.

I had taken myself out of this line of work voluntarily; so why did I feel so relieved to be reentering this world?


End file.
